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ENGLISH    SOCIETY 


SKETCHED    BY 

GEORGE  DU  MAURIER 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

1897 


Copyright.  i8S6,  1887,  i83S.  1889.  1S90.  tSgi,  1892.  1S93.  1894,  1S95,  and  1896,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

Ali  Kf^htt  rtservtd. 


GEORGE    DU    MAURIER 


GEORGE    DU    MAURIER 

I  WAS  thinking,  with  a  pang,  just  before  I  put  my  pen  to  the  paper, 
that  the  death  of  George  du  Maurier  must  be  a  fact  of  stale  interest  to 
the  reader  already,  and  that  it  would  be  staler  yet  by  the  time  my  words 
reached  him.  So  swiftly  does  the  revolving  world  carry  our  sorrow  into 
the  sun,  our  mirth  into  the  shade,  that  it  is  as  if  the  speed  of  the  planet 
had  caught  something  of  the  impatience  of  age,  and  it  were  hurried  round 
upon  its  axis  with  the  quickened  pulses  of  senility.  But  perhaps  this  is 
a  delusion  of  ours  who  dwell  in  the  vicissitude  of  events,  and  there  are 
still  spots  on  the  earth's  whirling  surface,  lurking-places  of  quiet,  where  it 
seems  not  to  move,  and  there  is  time  to  remember  and  to  regret ;  where 
it  is  no  astonishing  thing  that  a  king  should  be  a  whole  month  dead,  and 
yet  not  forgotten.  At  any  rate,  it  is  in  the  hope,  if  not  quite  the  faith,  of 
this  that  I  venture  some  belated  lines  concerning  a  man  whom  we  have 
lost  just  when   he  seemed  beginning   to  reveal  himself. 

I 


I. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  have  the  courage  to  write  to  Du  Maurler 
when  Trilby  was  only  half  printed,  and  to  tell  him  how  much  I  liked 
the  gay,  sad  story.  In  every  way  it  was  well  that  I  did  not  wait  for  the 
end,  for  the  last  third  of  it  seemed  to  me  so  altogether  forced  in  its  con- 
clusions that  I  could  not  have  offered  my  praises  with  a  whole  heart,  nor 
he  accepted  them  with  any,  if  the  disgust  with  its  preposterous  popularity, 
which  he  so  frankly,  so  humorously  expressed,  had  then  begun  in  him. 
But  the  liking  which  its  readers  felt  had  not  yet  become  loathsome  to  the 
author,  and  he  wrote  me  back  a  charming  note,  promising  me  the  mys- 
tery, and  enough  of  it,  which  I  had  hoped  for,  because  of  my  pleasure  in 
the  true-dreaming  in  Peter  Ibbetsojt ;  and  speaking  briefly,  most  modestly 
and  fitly,  of  his  commencing  novelist  at  sixty,  and  his  relative  misgivings 
and  surprises. 

It  was  indeed  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  things  in  the  history  of 
literature,  and  without  a  parallel,  at  least  to  my  ignorance.  He  might 
have    commenced  and  failed  ;   that  would  have  been  indefinitely  less  amaz- 

2 


ing  than  his  most  amazing  success  ;  but  it  was  very  amazing  that  he  should 
have  commenced  at  all.  It  is  useless  to  say  that  he  had  commenced  long 
before,  and  in  the  literary  property  of  his  work  he  had  always  been  an 
author.  This  theory  will  not  justify  itself  to  any  critical  judgment ;  one 
might  as  well  say,  if  some  great  novelist  distinguished  for  his  sense  of 
color  took  to  painting,  that  he  had  always  been  an  artist.  The  wonder 
of  Du  Manner's  essay,  the  astounding  spectacle  of  his  success,  cannot  be 
diminished  by  any  such  explanation  of  it.  He  commenced  novelist  in 
Peter  Ibbetson,  and  so  far  as  literature  was  concerned  he  succeeded  in 
even  greater  fulness  than  he  has  succeeded  since.  He  had  perfect  reason 
to  be  surprised  ;  he  had  attempted  an  experiment,  and  he  had  performed 
a  miracle.  ' 

As  for  the  nature,  or  the  quality,  of  his  miracle,  that  is  another  ques- 
tion. I  myself  think  that  in  all  essentials  it  was  fine.  The  result  was 
not  less  gold  because  there  was  some  dross  of  the  transmuted  metals  hang- 
ing about  the  precious  ingot,  and  the  evidences  of  the  process  were  present, 
though  the  secret  was  as  occult  as  ever.  He  won  the  heart,  he  kindled 
the  fancy,  he  bewitched  the  reason  ;  and  no  one  can  say  just  how  he  did 
it.       His  literary  attitude  was  not  altogether  new  ;  he  perfected  an  attitude 

3 


recognizable  first  in  Fielding,  next  in  Sterne,  then  in  Heine,  afterwards  in 
Thackeray  :  the  attitude  which  I  once  called  confidential,  and  shook  three 
realms  beyond  seas,  and  their  colonial  dependencies  here,  with  the  word. 
It  is  an  attitude  which  I  find  swaggering  in  Fielding,  insincere  in  Sterne, 
mocking  in  Heine,  and  inartistic  in  Thackeray;  but  Du  Maurier  made  it 
lovable.  His  whole  story  was  a  confidence  ;  whatever  illusion  there  was 
resided  in  that  fact ;  you  had  to  grant  it  in  the  beginning,  and  he  made 
you  grant  it  gladly.  A  trick  ?  Yes ;  but  none  of  your  vulgar  ones  ;  a 
species  of  legerdemain,  exquisite  as  that  of  the  Eastern  juggler  who  plants 
his  ladder  on  the  ground,  climbs  it,  and  pulls  it  up  after  him  into  the 
empty  air.  It  wants  seriousness,  it  wants  the  last  respect  for  the  reader's 
intelligence,  it  wants  critical  justification  ;  it  wants  whatever  is  the  very 
greatest  thing  in  the  very  greatest  novelists ;  the  thing  that  convinces  in 
Hawthorne,  George  Eliot,  Tourguenief,  Tolstoy.  But  short  of  this  supreme 
truth,  it  has  every  grace,  every  beauty,  every  charm.  It  touches,  it 
appeals,  it  consoles  ;  and  it  flatters,  too ;  if  it  turns  the  head,  if  it  intox- 
icates, well,  it  is  better  to  own  the  fact  that  it  leaves  one  in  not  quite  the 
condition  for  judging  it.  I  made  my  tacit  protest  against  it  after  follow- 
ing Trilby,  poor  soul,  to  her  apotheosis  at  the  hands  of  the  world  and  the 

4  ^ 


church;  but  I  fell  a  prey  to  it  again  in  the  first  chapters  of  The  Martian, 
and   I   expect  to  continue  in  that  sweet  bondage  to  the  end. 

11. 

If  I  venture  to  say  that  sentimentahty  is  the  dominant  of  the  Du 
Maurier  music,  it  is  because  his  art  has  made  sentimentality  beautiful ;  I 
had  almost  said  real,  and  I  am  ready  to  say  different  from  what  it  was 
before.  It  is  a  very  manly  sentimentality  ;  we  need  not  be  ashamed  of 
sharing  it ;  one  should  rather  be  ashamed  of  disowning  its  emotions.  It 
is  in  its  sweetness,  as  well  as  its  manliness,  that  I  find  the  chief  analogy 
between  Du  Maurier's  literature  and  his  art.  In  all  the  long  course  of 
his  dealing  with  the  life  of  English  society,  I  can  think  of  but  two  or 
three  instances  of  ungentleness.  The  humor  which  shone  upon  every  rank, 
and  every  variety  of  character,  never  abashed  the  lowly,  never  insulted 
women,  never  betrayed  the  trust  which  reposed  in  its  traditions  of  decency 
and  generosity.  If  we  think  of  any  other  caricaturist's  art,  how  bitter  it 
is  apt  to  be,  how  brutal,  how  base  !  The  cruelties  that  often  pass  for  wit, 
even   in   the   best  of  our   own    society    satires,   never   tempted   him   to    their 

5 


ignoble  exploitation  ;  and  as  for  the  filthy  drolleries  of  French  wit,  forever 
amusing  itself  with  one  commandment,  how  far  they  all  are  from  him  ! 
His  pictures  are  full  of  the  dearest  children,  lovely  young  girls,  honest 
young  fellows  ;  snobs  who  are  as  compassionable  as  they  are  despicable, 
bores  who  have  their  reason  for  being,  hypocrites  who  are  not  beyond 
redemption.  It  is  in  his  tolerance,  his  final  pity  of  all  life,  that  Du 
Maurier  takes  his  place  with  the  great  talents  ;  and  it  is  in  his  sympathy 
for  weakness,  for  the  abased  and  outcast,  that  he  classes  himself  with  the 
foremost  novelists  of  the  age,  not  one  of  whom  is  recreant  to  the  high 
office  of  teaching  by  parable  that  we  may  not  profitably  despise  one 
another.  Not  even  Svengali  was  beyond  the  pale  of  his  mercy,  and  how 
well  within  it  some  other  sorts  of  sinners  were,  the  grief  of  very  respecta- 
ble people  testified. 

I  will  own  myself  that  I  like  heroes  and  heroines  to  be  born  in  wed- 
lock when  they  conveniently  can,  and  to  keep  true  to  it ;  but  if  an  author 
wishes  to  suppose  them  otherwise  I  cannot  proscribe  them  except  for  sub- 
sequent misbehavior  in  his  hands.  The  trouble  with  Trilby  was  not  that 
she  was  what  she  was  imagined,  but  that  finally  the  world  could  not 
imaginably  act  with  regard  to  her  as  the  author  feigned.      Such  as  she  are 

6 


to  be  forgiven,  when  they  sin  no  more  ;  not  exalted  and  bowed  down  to 
by  all  manner  of  elect  personages.  But  I  fancy  Du  Maurier  did  not 
mean  her  to  be  an  example.  She  had  to  be  done  something  with,  and 
after  all  she  had  suffered,  it  was  not  in  the  heart  of  poetic  justice  to  deny 
her  a  little  moriturary  triumph. 

Du  Maurier  was  not  a  censor  of  morals,  but  of  manners,  which 
indeed  are  or  ought  to  be  the  flower  of  morals,  but  not  their  root,  and  his 
deflections  from  the  straight  line  in  the  destiny  of  his  creations  must  not 
be  too  seriously  regarded.  I  take  it  that  the  very  highest  fiction  is  that 
which  treats  itself  as  fact,  and  never  once  allows  itself  to  be  otherwise. 
This  is  the  kind  that  the  reader  may  well  hold  to  the  strictest  accounta- 
bility in  all  respects.  But  there  is  another  kind  capable  of  expressing  an 
engaging  beauty,  and  bewitchingly  portraying  many  phases  of  life,  which 
comes  smiling  to  you  or  (in  vulgar  keeping)  nudging  you,  and  asking  you 
to  a  game  of  make-believe.  I  do  not  object  to  that  kind  either,  but  I 
should  not  judge  it  on  such  high  grounds  as  the  other.  I  think  it  reached 
its  perfect  effect  in  Du  Manner's  hands,  and  that  this  novelist,  who  wrote 
no  'fiction  till  nigh  sixty,  is  the  greatest  master  in  that  sort  who  ever  lived, 
and   I  do  not  forget  either  Sterne  or  Thackeray    when   I   say  so. 

7 


III. 

When  I  first  spoke,  long  ago,  of  the  confidential  attitude  of  Thack- 
eray, I  said  that  now  we  would  not  endure  it.  But  I  was  wrong,  if  I 
meant  that  more  than  the  very  small  number  who  judge  novels  critically 
would  be  impatient  of  it.  No  sooner  were  those  fearful  words  printed 
than  I  began  to  find,  to  my  vast  surprise,  that  the  confidential  attitude  in 
Thackeray  was  what  most  pleased  the  greatest  number  of  his  readers. 
This  gave  me  an  ill  opinion  of  their  taste,  but  I  could  not  deny  the  fact ; 
and  the  obstreperous  triumph  of  Trilby,  which  was  one  long  confidence,  has 
since  contributed  to  render  my  defeat  overwhelming.  Du  Maurier's  use  of 
the  method,  as  he  perfected  it,  was  so  charming  that  I  am  not  sure  but  I 
began  to  be  a  little  in  love  with  it  myself,  though  ordinarily  superior  to  its 
blandishments.  It  was  all  very  well  to  have  Thackeray  weep  upon  your 
neck  over  the  fortunes  of  his  characters,  but  if  he  had  just  been  telling 
you  they  were  puppets,  it  was  not  so  gratifying ;  and  as  for  poor  Sterne, 
his  sighs  were  so  frankly  insincere  you  could  not  believe  anything  he  said. 
But  Du    Maurier  came  with  another  eye  for  life,  with  a  faith  of  his  own 

8 


which  you  could  share,  and  with  a  spirit  which  endeared  him  from  the 
first.  He  had  prodigious  novelties  in  store  :  true-dreaming,  hypnotism,  and 
now  (one  does  not  know  quite  what  yet)  intelligence  from  the  neighborly 
little  planet  Mars.  He  had  the  gift  of  persuading  you  that  all  his 
wonders  were  true,  and  his  flattering  familiarity  of  manner  heightened  the 
effect  of  his  wonders,  like  that  of  the  prestidigitator,  who  passes  round  in 
his  audience,  chatting  pleasantly,  while  he  pours  twenty  different  liquors 
out  of  one  magical  bottle. 

I  would  not  count  his  beautiful  talent  at  less  than  its  rare  worth, 
and  if  this  figure  belittles  that,  it  does  him  wrong.  Not  before  in  our 
literature  has  anything  more  distinct,  more  individual,  made  itself  felt.  I 
have  assumed  to  trace  its  descent,  from  this  writer  to  that ;  but  it  was 
only  partly  so  descended  ;  in  what  made  it  surprising  and  captivating,  it 
was  heaven-descended.  We  shall  be  the  lonelier  and  the  poorer  hereafter 
for  the  -silence  which  is  to  be  where  George  du   Maurier  might  have  been. 

W.     D.     HOWELLS. 


ENGLISH    SOCIETY 


POST-PRANDIAL  STUDIES 

Fair  Hostess  {passing  the  winc).—"\  hope  you  admire  this  decanter,  Admiral?" 
Gallant  Admiral.— "Ah !  it's  not  the  vessel  I  am  admiring.  .  .  ." 
Fair  Hostess. — "I  suppose  it's  xht  port?" 
Gallant  Admiral. — "Oh.no;  it's  the  pilot." 


HAMPERED   WITH   A  CONSCIENCE 
Tommy  {home  from  an  afternoon  party).—"  Mamma,  darling,  I've  got  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you.  . 


Please  don't  ask  nie  /io7c  I  behaved !" 


FELINE  AMENITIES 

Old  Lady  {to  fashionable  beauty,  who  has  recently  married  the  General). — "And  so  that  white-haired  old  darling  is  your  husband! 
What  a  good-looking  couple  you  must  once  have  been!" 


TAKING   THE   CHANCES 

The  General.— "  I've  brought  you  a  new  book,  Aunt  Emily,  by  the  new  French  Academician.     I'm  told  it's  very  good;  but  I've 

not  read  it  myself,  so  I'm  not  sure  it's  quite— a— quite  correct,  you  know." 
Aunt  Emu. v. —"My  dear  boy,  I'm  ninety-six,  and  I'll  r/si  it!" 


TRIALS  OF  A   PAINTER'S  WIFE 

Sir  Binks  (who  always  piques  himself  on  saying  jusi  the  right  thing). — "A — what  I  like  so  much  about  the  milkmaid,  dontcher- 
know,  is  that  your  husband  hasn't  fallen  into  the  usual  mistake  of  painting  a  lady  dressed  up  in  milkmaid's  clothes!  She's  so 
unmistakably  a  milkmaid  and  nothing  else,  dontcherknow!" 

The  Painter's  Wife. — "I'm  so  glad  you  think  so.  .  .  .  He  painted  her  from  me/" 


LADIES  OF  FASHION  AND  THEIR  DOCTORS 

(Scene:   The  Waiting-Room  of  a  Fashionable  Physician.) 

Fair  Patient  {Just  ushered  in). — "'^\\dX—you  here,  Lizzie?     Wliy,  ain't  you  well?" 
Second  Ditto. — "  Perfectly,  thanksl     But  what's  the  matter  with  ^oz/,  dear.'" 
First  Ditto. — "Oh,  nothing  whatever!     I'm  as  right  as  possible,  dearest  .  .  .  I " 


BONJOUR,  SUZON!" 


RIVAL   SMALL   AND    EARLIES 


va'^ 


MOTHER'S   DARLINGS 


DAYLIGHT   WISDOM 

Elder  Sister.— "Oh!  he  proposed  after  supper,  did  he— after  dancing  with  you  all  night— and  you  refused  him?     Quite  right! 
My  dear  child,  never  believe  in  any  proposal  until  the  young  man  calls  at  eleven  in  the  morning  and  asks  you  to  be  his  wife!" 


AN   UNAPPRECIATED  COMPLIMENT 
"Good-night,  Miss  Maud!" 
"I'm  not  Miss  Maud." 

"Miss  Ethel,  I  mean.     Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me.'     How  ungrateful   of  you!  and  just  after  I've   been  taking  you  for  your 
lovely  sister,  too." 


LE   MONDE  OU   LON  SENNUIE 

'I  see  a  tent.     I  wonder  what's  going  on  inside?     Let's  go  and  see. 
■What's  the  good  of  our  going  in  there?" 
'  What's  the  good  of  our  stopping  out  here  ?' 


THE  TABLES  TURNED 

Tired  Daughters. — "Don't  you  think  we  might  ^o  now,  mamma?    It's  three  o'clocI<." 
Festive  Mamma.— "Oh.  that's  not  so  very  late,  darlings.  .  .  .  Mayn't  I  have  one  more  dance?" 


A   SLEEPY   HOLLOW   IN   THE   OLD  COUNTRY 

(The  Common  Room  at  St.  Morpheus,  Oxbridge.) 

* 
First  Tutor  {waking  up,  ami  languidly  helping  himself  lo  his  modest  glass  of  elaret). — "Ah!    I  like  a  little  sleep  after  dinner.  ...   It 

makes  one  ready  for  one's  wine  !" 
Second  Tutor.—"  Well,  /  like  a  little  sleep  hefare  dinner  best  I" 
The  Ma.ster. — "Pooh!     Talk  to  me  of  the  after-breakfast  sleep  in  term-time!     That's  what  /enjoy!!" 


TAKING  ONE  TOO  MUCH  AT  ONES  WORD 

Hostess. — "Won't  you  play  us  sometliing,  Mr.  Spinks?" 

Musical  Amateur  (who  thinks  a  good  deal  of  himself,  in  spite  of  his  modesty). — "Oh,  don't  ask  me — you  are  all   such   first- 
rate  performers  here — and  you  play  such  good  music,  too." 
Hostess. — "Well,  but  we  like  a  little  variety,  you  know." 


THE   ENGLISH   TAKE   THEIR   PLEASURES   SADLY 


A    DAUGHTER    OF    HETH 

Lionel. — "Oh,  I  say,  Benjamin!   how  splendid  your  wife  is  looking!     S/te  pays  for  dressing,  if  you  like!" 
Benjamim. — "Does  she,  my  boy?     I  only  wish  she  did!" 


A   QUESTION    OF   AGE 

Teddy. — "How  old  are  you.  Aunt  Milly?" 

Aunt  Milly  (w/io  oums  to  j>5).— "Oh,  Teddy,  almost  a  hundred  !" 

Tkddy. — "Auntie,  I  can't  believe  you!     I'd  believe  you  if  you'd  said  fifty  I" 


BREAKFAST  AT  BONNEBOUCHE   HALL 
"  A  southerly  wind  and  a  cloudy  sky  proclaim  a  hunting  morning." 


BUSINESS 

Sir  Bedivere  de  Vere.— "Oh,  I  say.    How  you  do  chaff!    You  never  take  me  seriously!" 
American  Belle. — "You  never  asked  me!"    (No  cards:) 


DOMESTIC    ECONOMY 

Mater. — "  Papa,  dear,  do  you  know  a  halfpenny  weekly  paper  called  Flipbutts?" 
Pater. — "Never  heard  of  it  in  my  life!" 

Mater. — "  Well,  it  offers  ninepence  a  column  for  answering  questions,  and  they  are  so  difficult,  and  we  do  so  want  to  make  a  little 
money  !     Do  leave  off  your  novel  and  help  us  a  little."     {Pater  can  only  write  two  novels  a  year,  but  gets  £/o.ooo  for  each  of  them.) 


WHAT   INDUCED   HIM   TO   MARRY   HER? 

He. — "Look!     Here  comes  young  Brummell  Washington,  with  his  bride.     I  wonder  what  on  earth  Induced  him  to  marry  her.'" 
Shr. — "Oh,  probably  somebody  bet  him  he  wouldn't!" 


A  CLAIM  TO  SOCIAL  PRECEDENCE 

Hostess. "You  must  give  your  arm  to  Miss  Malecho,  William,  and   put  her  on  your  right,  and  make  yourself  as  agreeable  as  you 

possibly  can !" 

Host. — "  Why,  she's  a  person  of  no  consequence  whatever !" 

Hostess. "Oh,  yes,  she   is!     She's   very  ill-natured,  and   tells   the  most  horrid    lies   about   people  if   they  don't  pay   her   the  very 

greatest  attention !" 


"Auntie,  darling,  this  is  my  new  friend,  Georgie  Jones.     He  is  nice. 
and  his  is  the  tenth,  so  you  see  we  only  just  escaped  being  twins !" 


AN    INTRODUCTION 

And  isn't  it  funny,  my  birthday  is  the  ninth  of  January, 


BANJONALITIES 

(The  Freemasonry  of  Art.) 

He. — "I  beg  your  pardon — but — er 
would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give 
me  the  '  G  '?" 
She. — "  Oh,  certainly."     {Gives  z'L) 
He. —  "Thanks,    awfully!"       (Bows 
and  proceeds  on  his  ivay^ 


TEUTONIC   SATIRE 

Hostess. — "  Oh,  pray  don't  leave  off,  Herr  Rosencranz.     That  was  a  lovely  song  you  just  began  !" 

Eminent  Barytone. — "Yes,  matame,  hot  it  tit  not  harmonise  viz  de  cheneral  gonferzation.     It  is  in  B  vlat,  and  you  and  all  your  vrents 

are  talking  in  C.     I  haf  a  zong  in  F  and  a  zong  in  A  sharp,  hot  I  haf  no  zcmg  in  G !" 
Accompanist. — •"  Ach  !     Berhaps,  to  opiiche  matame,  I  could  dransbose  de  aggombaniments — ja?" 


REASONING   FROM   INDUCTION 

'  Look,  Geoffrey !    That's  Lady  Emily  Tomlinson.     Isn't  she  pretty?" 
'Yes.     And  I  s'pose  that's  Lord  Emily  walking  with  her!  ' 


THOSE   INFELICITOUS   SPEECHES 

Professor  Boreham. — "What!  alone,  Mrs.  Highflyer?     Your  husband  is  not  ill,  I  trust!" 
Mrs.  Highflyer  {innocently). — "Oh  no;   but  he  was  afraid  he  might  be,  if  he  came  here!" 


-'-'^■■'^•"^-a-^^'-^  .,^,^.'-Vca^t->^^ 


SOCIAL   PERSEVERANCE 

Mrs.  Onslow -PuSHiNGTON.— "  What  a  very  singular  woman  Lady  Masham  w,  Professor !  I  have  called  on  her  every 
Wednesday  this  month,  and  the  footman  (who  knows  me  perfectly)  always  said  she  was  out,  though  Wednesday's  her  day  at 
home,  and  there  were  lots  of  carriages  at  the  door !  She  never  calls  on  me — never !  And  when  I  bow  to  her,  as  1  always  do, 
she  always  looks  another  way,  as  she  did  just  now.     I  must  really  call  again  next  Wednesday." 


THE   LAST   STRAW! 

'  What's  the  matter,  dearest  ?  You 
look  sad.  .  .  ." 

'  Oh,  everything's  going  wrong.  The 
children  are  ill  in  bed,  and  nurse 
has  got  the  influenza,  and  my  hus- 
band declares  that  ruin  is  staring 
us  in  the  face,  and  I've  got  an  un- 
becoming frock,  and  altogether  I'm 
thoroughly  depressed.  .  .  ." 

(Breaks  dtnvn.) 


JUST   IN   TIME   FOR   A  CUP  OF  TEA 


FELINE  AMENITIES 

The  Misses  Tiptylte. — "  Such  fun  !    We're  going  to  Mrs.  Masham's  fancy  ball  as  Cinderella's  ugly  sisters — with  false  noses,  you  know !" 
Miss  Aquila  Sharpe. — "What  a  capital  idea!    But  why  false  noses?" 


NEIGHBORLY  COMPLIMENTS 

"Tell  me,  Mrs.  Jones,  who's  that  young  Adonis  your  married  daughter  is  looking  up  to  so  eagerly?" 

"Her  husband,  Mrs.  Snarleyl" 

"Dear  me,  you  don't  say  so:     I  congratulate  you.  .  .  .  Now  I  understand  how  you  come  to  have  such  good-looking  grandchildren.' 


GENTLE  TERRORISM 

The  Professor. — "Will  you  give  me  a  kiss,  my  dear?" 

Effif.  (an  habilually  !i<i!ii;/i/y  gt'rl). — "Oh,  mammie.  .  .  .  I'll  he  good,  I'll  be  good. 


.  I  promise !" 


AN   UNPLEASANT   SOCIAL 
DUTY 

Hostess. — "Geoffrey,  I  want  you  to 

dance  with  that  little  girl  1" 
Geoffrey. — "Oh,  well,  if   I   must,  I 

must  .  .  . !" 


STREET    DIALECTICS 

Brown  {^who  was  all  but  run  over). — "Why  didn't  you  call  out  sooner,  you  stupid  ass?" 

Cabby.—"  I  did,  sir !" 

Brown.— "  Why  didn't  you  call  out  louder,  yh^nT' 

Cabby.— "I  did,  sir!' 


EQUAL  TO  THE   OCCASION 

Mrs.  Gushington. — "Oh!  oh  I   what  a  lovely,  Imiely  picture!     So  true,  so  .  .  ." 

Our  Artist. — "  Wait  a  bit,  Mrs.  Gushington — it's  wrong  side  up.  .  .  .  Let  me  put  it  right  first 

Mrs.  Gushington  {unabashed). — "Oh!  oh!   oh!     \<!\\y,tliat  way  it's  even  more  lovely  still!" 


{Does  so.) 


PRECEDENCE   AT    BONNEBOUCHE   HALL    DURING   THE    HOLIDAYS 
Grandpapa  takes  the  bride  ia  to  dinner,  and  the  rest  follow  anyhow. 


HISTRIONIC   EGOTISM 


Our  Pei-  Actor  {jicst  arrived).— "'Qy  Jove— these  good  people  all  seem  to  know  me  very  well— nodding  and  %m\X\x\%," —[nods 
and  smiles  himself ,  right  and  left)— "  VLV^zommonXy  flattering,  I'm  sure— considering  I've  never  set  foot  in  the  town  before!" 


and 


Our  Pet  Artist  [his  chum).— "I'm  afraid  it's  me  they're  nodding  and  smiling  at.  old  man!     I  come  every  year,  you  know— 
know  every  soul  in  the  place !" 


A  STATELY  STAIRCASE  WINDS 
AROUND  A  LARGE  HALL 


HOW   REPUTATIONS   OF   DISTINGUISHED   AMATEURS   ARE   SOMETIMES  MADE 

Herr  Silbermund  (the  Great  Pianist)  to  Mrs.  Tattler. — "  Ach,  Lady  Creichton  has  for  bainting  der  most  remarrgaple  chenius. 
Look  at  dis!    It  is  eqval  to  Felasquez  !" 

M.  Languedor  (the  Famous  Painter)  to  Miss  Gushington. — "Ah!  For  ze  music,  Miladi  Cretonne  has  a  talent  kvite  exceptionnel. 
Listen  to  zat !    It  surpass  Madame  Schumann !" 


EOTHEN 

Cook's  Tourist  {female).—"  What's 
that  jagged  white  line  on  the  hori- 
zon, I  wonder?" 

Cook's  Tourist  {male).  —  "  Sntnt>, 
probably !" 

Cook's  Tourist  {/eihale).  —  "Ah! 
that's  much  more  likely!  I  heard 
the  captain  saying  it  was  Greece!" 


THE  DANCING    MAN   OF   THE 
PERIOD 

"  Been  dancin'  at  all  ?" 

"Dancin'?  Not  I !  Catch  me  dancin' 
in  a  house  where  there  ain't  a 
sniokin'-room  !     I'm  off,  directly  !" 


UNCONSCIOUS  CYNICISM 

She. — "  It's  such  years  since  we  met  that  perhaps  you  never  heard  of  my  marriage  ?" 
He. — "No,  indeed!     Is  it — er — recent  enough  for  congratulations?" 


UNLUCKY   SPEECHES 

She.— "What  a  disagreeable  thing  that  insomnia  must  be!    Very  trying,  I  think!    Do  you  ever  suffer  from  it.  Captain  Spinks?" 
He. — "  Oh,  dear,  no.     I  can  sleep  anywhere,  at  any  time  !     Could  go  off  Ms  motnent,  I  assure  you  .  .  . !" 


M±  If  <, 


FIN   DE  SIECLE 

'That's   where    poor    Mrs.   Wilkins 

used  to  live !" 
'  Why  'poor '  Mrs.  Wilkins  ?" 
'  Well,  her  husband  was  killed  in  that 

horrid  railway  accident,  don't  you 

remember.'" 
'  Oh,  but  that  was  ?iwnths  ago !" 


A  CUP  OF  TEA   AND   A  QUIET  CIGARETTE   AFTER   LUNCH 


PRECEDENCE   IN   VANITY   FAIR 

The  lady  guests  go  in  to  dinner  with  the  host  and  young  Sir  John  and  young  Sir  James  and  the  Hon.  Dick  Swiveller,  while  the 
hostess  naturally  takes  the  arm  of  her  nephew,  Lord  Goslin  i^just  from  Eton),  so  that,  as  the  party  is  just  two  ladies  short,  Dr.  Jones, 
the  great  historian,  and  Professor  Brown,  the  famous  philologist  (whose  wives  have  not  been  asked),  bring  up  the  rear  together. 

The  Doctor. — "  Well,  Professor,  we  may  be  of  less  consequence  than  the  rest,  but  at  all  events  we're  the  oldest  and  the  most  renowned  !" 


THINGS  ONE  COULD   WISH   TO   HAVE   EXPRESSED   OTHERWISE 

Puzzled  Hostess.— "I  beg  your  pardon,  Lord  Bovril,  but  will  you  tell  me  whether  I  ought' to  take  your  arm,  or  Prince 
Sulkytoff's,  or  the  Duke's  ?  " 

Lord  Bovril  (Lord-Lieutenanl  of  the  County).  —  "Well — a— since  you  ask  me,  I  must  tell  you  that — a — as  her  Majesty's 
representative,/  am  bound  to  claim  the  honor!  But  I  hope  you  won't  for  a  moment  suppose  that  I'm  fool  enough— a— to  care 
personally  one  rap  about  that  sort  of  thing!" 


DANCING   MEN 


ILL-CONSIDERED   UTTERANCES 

Well-Preserved  Elderly  Coquette. — "Ah!  Admiral,  w//^^  a  good  time  we  had  there,  junketing  and  dancing  and  flirting! 
It  all  seems  like  yesterday !  Do  you  remember  the  Carew  girls,  and  your  old  flame  Lucy  Masters,  and  that  poor  boy  Jack  Lushington, 
who  was  so  desperately  in  love  with  me?" 

The  Admiral. — "Indeed  I  do,  dear  Lady  Maria!     And  to  think  of  their  all  dying  .  .  .  years  ago!  .  .  .  And  of  ohi  age.  too!" 


AN  EQUIVOCAL  COMPLIMENT 

Lady  Prattler  (a  confirmed  first- 
nig  liter , to  actor-manager). — "  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  success  last  ■ 
night,  Mr.  McStanip!  .  .  .  How 
good  you  were  !  It  wasallcharmin' 
— so  light,  so  bright,  so  well  put  on 
the  stage  !  ...  And  oh!  such  nice 
long  entr'actes,  you  know !" 


PROFESSIONAL   BEAUTIES   OF  THE   PAST 

HouSEKEEPKR   {showing  visitors  over  historic  mansion).  —  "This   is   the   portrait   of  Queen   Catherine  of   Medici  —  sister  to  the 
Venus  of  that  name.  .  .  ." 


THE  GONDOLETTE 


A   FESTIVE   PROCESSION 
Meet  of  the  Four-in-Hand  Club,  Hyde  Park,  London. 


THE   JOYS   OF    HOSPITALITY 

Jenkins. — "Good  heavens!     Why,  there's  that  brute  Tomkins!     The   skunk!     I  wonder  you  can  ask  such  a  man  to  your  house! 

I  hope  you  haven't  put  him  near  me  at  dinner,  because  I  shall  cut  him  dead." 
Hostess. — " Oh,  its  all  right.     He  told  me  all  about  you  before  you  came  in." 
Jenkins.— "Did  he.'    What  did  he  say  about  ;//£-,  the  ruffian?" 
Hostess. — "Oh,  nothing  much — merely  what  you've  just  been  saying  about  him." 


^>- 


TOO    KIND    BY    HALF 

j-Ie. — "Oh,  I've    long  given   up   dancing  for   my  own  sake.     I  only  dance  now   with  those  unlucky  girls  that  don't  get  partners. 

Who's  that  young  lady  behind  you  ?" 
She. — "  My  daughter." 
He. — "  Pray,  introduce  me!" 


and 


AN    INFELICITOUS   SPEECH 
"Why.  you're  looking  better  already,  Sir  Ronald!" 

••Yes,  thanks  to  your  delightful  hospitality,  IVe  had   everything  my  doctor  ordered  me:   'Fresh  air,  good   food,  agreeable  society 
cheerful  conversation  that  invoh^es  no  strain  on  the  intellect!'" 


DISAPPOINTMENTS  OF   LION-HUNTING 

Guardsman  (xaziitj^  at  the  motley  throntr). — "Any  great  literary  or  scientific  celebrities  here  to-night,  Lady  Circe?" 

Lady  Circe  {who  has  taken  to  hunting   Lions). — "No,  Sir  Charles.     The  worst  of  celebrities  in  these  democratic  days  is  that 

they  won't  come  unless  you  ask  their  wives  and  families,  too!      So  I  ask  the  wives  and  families,  and  the  wives  and  families  come 

in  their  thousands,  if  you  please,  and  the  celebrities  stay  at  home  and  f;o  to  bed." 


TWO   ON   A   TOWER 

Jones  {a  rising  young  Britisli  arc/ii- 
iect). — "  Yes ;  it's  a  charming  old 
castle  you've  bought,  Mrs.  Prynne, 
and  I  heartily  congratulate  you  on 
being  its  possessor!" 

Fair  California  Widow  (just  si-t- 
ilcd  in  the  old  country). — "  Thanks. 
And  now  you  must  find  me  a  legend 
for  it,  Mr.  Jones  ! " 

JONKS. — "  I'm  afraid  I  can't  manage 
that ;  but  I  could  add  a  story,  if 
that  will  do  as  well ! " 


-'--"  ^-^^, 

^"^/.^^^^r 


AT   THE   ZOO 

ToMMV. — "Why  don't  they  liave  little  shut-up  houses?     Why  do  they  have  open  bars?" 
Dorothy  {tvIio  knows  evcrythiiii(). — "Oh!  that's  for  them  to  see  the  people,  of  course  I" 


',1  "'^^"'^a'N:\,  X.'-^^yy  NWVWVn^    ,\     ^     \^\\^   \  vv 


NATURE    F£/?SUS  ART 

Just  as  Stodge  is  about  to  explain  the  recondite  subtleties  of  his  picture  to  a  select  circle  of  deeply  interested  and  delightfully 
sympathetic  women,  his  wife  comes  in  with  the  6iil>}',  confound  it ! 


A   NEW   READING  OF   A    FAMOUS   PICTURE 
■  Oh,  look,  grandpapa !     Poor  things  .  .  .  they're  burying  the  baby  !" 


ANTE-POSTHUMOUS  JEALOUSY 

■Isn't  Emily  Firkinson  a  darling,  Reginald?" 

'A— ahem— no  doubt.     I  can't  say  much  for  her  si'u^iu^,  you  know!" 

'Ah!   but  siie's  so  good  and  true — a  perfect  angel!     I've  known  her  all  my  life.     I  want  you  to  promise  me  something,  Reginald. 

'Certainly,  my  love  !" 

'  If  I  should  die  young,  and  you  should  ever  marry  again,  promise,  oh  I   promise  me  that  it  shall  be  Emily  Firkinson  !" 


DISTINGUISHED   PROFESSIONALS 

Hostess  (to  host,  after  dinner).— "  Gtor^e.  dear,  how  about  asking  Signor  Robsonio  and  Signora  Smithorelli  to  sing?     They'l 
be  mortally  offended  if  we  do.  and  they'll  be  mortally  offended  if  we  don't.'" 


SOCIAL  AGONIES 

Mrs.  Blokkr. — "Oh.  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you  at  breakfast,  but  I  wanted  to  make  sure  of  you.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dedleigh 
Boreliam  are  stopping  with  me  for  a  few  days,  and  I  want  you  to  come  and  dine  to-morrow,  or,  if  you  are  engaged,  Wednesday  ; 
or  Thursday  will  do,  or  Friday  or  Saturday  ;  or  any  day  ne.xt  week  ! " 

(J/rj.  Brown  feebly  tries  to  invent  that  they  have  some  thoughts  of  sailing  to  Honolulu  this  afternoon,  ami  that  they  have  just 
lost  a  relative,  but  breaks  down  ignominiously.) 


TRUE   BLUE 

'  Rut  doesn't  hearing  those  brilliant 
speeches  sometimes  make  you 
change  your  mind  ?" 

'  My  mindf  Oh,  often  !  But  my 
vote,  NEVER!!' 


NOUS   AVONS  CHANGE   TOUT  CELA 

The  Old  Marquis  of  Carahas.— "What,  madam!  There's  your  lovely  but  penniless  daughter  positively  dying  to  marry 
me;  and  here  I  am,  willing  to  settle  /20,ooo  a  year  on  her,  and  give  her  one  of  the  oldest  titles  in  England,  ami  you  re/use 
your  consent .'.'.' .'  By  George,  madam,  in  my  young  days  it  wasn't  the  mothers  who  objected  to  men  of  my  sort.  It  was  the 
daughters  themselves  !  !" 


SPEECHES   ONE   HAS  TO   LIVE    DOWN 

Hostess. — "So  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Green." 

Visitor. — "Oh,  don't  mention  it.     The  anticipation,  you  know,  is  always  so  much  brighter  than  the  reality." 


TOO  CONSIDERATE 

Mrs.  Brown. — "Oh,  Mrs.  Smith,  do  have  that  sweet  baby  of  yours  brought  down  to  show  my^usband.     He  's  never  seen  it." 
Mr.  Brown. — "Oh,  pray,  don't  trouble  on  my  account.  " 


THINGS  ONE   WOULD   HAVE   EXPRESSED   DIFFERENTLY 

Genial  Hostess.— "  What,  going  already,  Professor?  .  .  .  And  must  you  take  your  wife  away  with  you?" 
The  Professor  (riuith  grave  politeness).—"  Indeed,  madam,  /  am  sorry  to  say  I  MUST .'" 


siV/tlK  iT 


HAPPY   THOUGHT 


FLUNKYANA 

(A  Visit  to   the   Portrait-Gallery  of 
Brabazon  Towers.) 

"  Pardon  me  !  But  you  have  passed 
over  that  picture  in  the  corner.  An 
old  Dutch  master,  I  think." 

"  Oh.  //ill/  /  'The  Burgermaster  '  it's 
called.  By  Rembrank,  I  blieve.  It 
ain't  nothing  much.  Only  a  work 
of  hart.  AW  one  of  /he  family, 
you  know  !" 


■OH,  DON'T  YOU  REMEMBER  SWEET  ALICE,  BEN   BOLT?" 


A    WINDOW   STUDY 

The  Maiden. — "Good-morning,  Mr.  Jones!     How  do  you  like  my  liyacinllis?" 

The  Cur.^te. — "  Well,  they  prevent  me  from  seeing  j'oit  /     I  should  prefer  Loiver  cinths !" 


'^m^f 


so  ENGLISH,  YOU   KNOW! 

The  Miss  Browns  {of  "  a  good"  Bayswater  family')  playing  "Buffalo  Gals,"  with  variations,  on  two  American  banjoes  and  an  American 
parlor-grand. 


SOCIAL   TARRADIDDLES 

Mrs.  Gushington  (aside  to  her  husband). — "What  a  long,  tiresome  piece  of  music  that  was!     Who's  it  by,  I  wonder?" 
Mr.  Gushington. — "  Beethoven,  my  love." 

Mrs.  Gushington  (to  hostess). — "My  dear  Mrs.  Brown,  what  heavenly   music!      How  in  every  bar   one  feels  the  stamp  of  the  greatest 
genius  the  world  has  ever  known !" 


LOVE'S   LABOR   LOST 

<  marry,  now  we've  got  this 
{Papa  has  taken  this  beautiful  liouse  and  garden  solely  with  the  view  of  tempting  eligible  young  men  to  cotne  and  play  lawn-tennis,  etc.,  etc.) 


"Oh,  papa,  we've  all  quite  made  up  our  minds  never  to  marry,  now  we've  got  this  beautiful  house  and  garden!" 
'iful  no 


THE   MARCH   OF   PROGRESS 

She. — "After  all.  there's  nothing  belter  tluin  the  wing  of  a  chicken!    Is  there,  General?" 

He. — ■•  I  never  tasted  the  wing  of  a  chicken.      1  only  know  the  legs!     When  I  was  young,  yow  know,  my  parents  always  ate  the 
wings,  and  now,  my  children  always  do!" 


AN   INFELICITOUS   QUESTION 


Esthetic  Youth. — •■  I  hope  by  degrees  to  have  this  room  filled  with  nothing  but  the  most  perfectly  beautiful  things.  .  .  .' 
SiMPLE-MlNDED  Gu.\KDSMAN.— "  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  these,  then .'" 


I   MUST   HAVE  THIS  TOOTH    OUT! 

'  I  must  have  this  tooth  out,  it  hurts  so !" 

'Oh, please  don't,  or  /  shall  have  to  wear  it,  as  I  do  all  of  your  left-ofl  things!" 


NEMESIS 
Mrs.  Consi-antia  (to  old  adorer,  who  has  married  for  money).—"  And  these  are  your  children,  Ronald  ?    Oh  !  .  .  .  how  like  their  mother!" 


TOO   LATE 

Hk. — "What!    You  haven't  got  a  dance  left?" 

She. — "No.     It's  past  two  o'clock!    Why  didn't  you  come  earlier?" 

He. — "Well,  a  feller  must  dine,  you  know!" 


^Titit-J-,. 


FEiMlNlNE   PERVERSITY 

She-Gossip  {alluding  to  newly-vjcdded  pair). — "There  go  'Beauty  and  the  Beast.'  as  they  are  called!  She  would  marry  him. 
Her  parents  strongly  opposed  the  match,  as  yon  may  imagine." 

He-Gossip  (lulio  /lutlers  himself  that  he  understauds  the  sex). — "By  George!  The  parental  opposition  must  have  been  strong 
to  make  her  niarrv  such  a  ruffian  as  that!" 


t  • 


CONSOLATION 

1)E  Snookke. — "There  goes  Mrs.  Ga/Aoum .'    She  never  asks  me  to  her  parties!     I  supjxjse  I  am  not  stvi//  enough!" 
Sympathetic  Ladv-Friend. — "Oh.  it  can't  be  //w//    One  meets  the  most  rowdy  people  in  London  there." 


CAPTAIN    LELONGBOW 

Captain  Lelongbow  {a  fascinating 
but  most  inveterate  romancer  about 
his  (mm  exploits').  —  "Who's  your 
favorite  hero  in  fiction.  Miss  Vera?" 

Miss  Vera. — ••  You  are!" 


ESTHETICS 

Mrs.  Van  Tromp. — "Oh.  Sir  Charles!    Modern  English  male  attire  is  loo  hideous.    Just  look  round  .  .  .  there  are  only  two  decently 

dressed  men  in  the  room !" 
Sir  Chari.ks.—"  Indeed  !     And  which  are  ///n',  may  I  ask?" 
Mrs.  Van  Tromp.— "Well,  I  don't  know  who  they  are,  exactly;  but  just  now  one  seems  to  be  offering  the  other  a  cup  of  tea." 


AN   ACCOMMODATION 

Vocalist  {to  fair  Stranger).— "  \ — I'm  going  to  sing  •Fain  would  I  clasp  thee  closer,  lave !'     May  I  look  at  you  while  I  am  singing?" 
Fair  Stranger.— "  Oh,  certainly !    Or  at  my  grandmother." 


'SVENGALI!  .  .  .  SVENGALI !  .  .  .  SVENGALI !" 


BOOKS   WRITTEN   AND   ILLUSTRATED 

BY 

GEORGE  DU  MAURIER 


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(  Three-Quarter  Levant         . 
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THE  MARTIAN  (Mr.  Dii  Manner's  last  work,  now  niiiniiig  as  a  serial  in  " 
began  ill  Ibe  iiumher  for  October,  i8<)6). 


PETER  ffiBETSON 


TRILBY 


TRILBY  SOUVENIR.    Photogravures  in  Portfolio 

IN  BOHEML\  WITH  DU  MAURIER.    By  Moscheles 


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4  50 

in  "  Harp 

er's  Magazine," 

8vo 

50 

8vo 

2  50 

Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York 

tS^  For  sale  by  all  b.wksellt-rs,  or  xvill  he  mailed  by  tin-  puhlinUers  on  receipt  of  price. 


C/9/CJ 


